


Favourite Boy

by wordsnnotes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (that's mentioned once), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Zayn Malik, Awkward Conversations, Banter, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Inspired by Music, Light Angst, London, London Underground, M/M, Marijuana, Miscommunication, Music, No Smut, POV Louis Tomlinson, POV Zayn Malik, Pining, Singer Louis Tomlinson, Smoking, adding a few tags for the new chapters, and then the usual, is it actually mutual? guess we'll find out, louis too but he hides it better, specifically the song favourite boy by half moon run, zayn is confused™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28771407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsnnotes/pseuds/wordsnnotes
Summary: But if they are just hook-ups—which they are, the reasonable part of his brain insists—then he has no reason to be here tonight. Louis most definitely doesn’t want him to be.Zayn knows that, he knows that very well, and yet it didn’t keep him from taking a shower, styling his hair just so, putting on that one pair of jeans he knows Louis has a weakness for, then jumping on the train and traveling through the entire city until he made it to that small club in South London.He kind of hates himself right now.Or: Zayn and Louis have been hook-ups for the past three years and Zayn is getting frustrated with it, but doesn't know what to do about it.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 33
Kudos: 48





	1. Zayn

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> I honestly don't know what this fic is, except it was prompted by my obsession with the song [Favourite Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qS5KsfHio8) by Half Moon Run (I may have ripped off some of its lyrics in here). Go listen to it while you read, I'm begging.  
> Thanks to everyone who's been supporting me in my Zouis breakdowns, especially Sabrina 😝💞

Zayn gives his name to the girl at the door, already knowing it’s not on the list. He’s hoping it won’t matter, though.

She looks at him with a sorry expression, and tells him he’ll have to buy a ticket, even though he’s late and the show is almost done. He could protest, tell her he knows the guy who’s performing tonight, but then what if she asks him in what capacity he knows him?

It would open a can of worms, because _what_ is he to Louis?

Put crudely, Zayn guesses he’s his fuck buddy. But then, they’re not exactly _buddies_ , are they? So, hook-ups, then.

But if they are just hook-ups—which they are, the reasonable part of his brain insists—then he has no reason to be here tonight. Louis most definitely doesn’t want him to be.

Zayn knows that, he knows that very well, and yet it didn’t keep him from taking a shower, styling his hair just so, putting on that one pair of jeans he knows Louis has a weakness for, then jumping on the train and traveling through the entire city until he made it to that small club in South London.

He kind of hates himself right now. 

_It’s all Louis’ fault_ , he grumbles internally as he pays for his ticket and gives his coat to the girl. Maybe if he had told him about this concert instead of keeping it a secret like a weirdo, Zayn wouldn’t have been so curious about it that he had to attend it.

He knows that this reasoning is flawed, but whatever. This whole thing with Louis has been flawed for quite a while now.

Because, Zayn has to admit that they should have never made it that far as hook-ups. You’d think it would have stopped by now. 

Three years. Three fucking years of Louis calling him at 10 p.m. on weekdays, asking if he could come over, and Zayn running to him like an idiot, then doing the exact same thing when he’s bored on Sunday afternoons. Three years and still going, despite the new flats, new jobs, new friends, new (and short-lived) partners on each side. 

Arguably, Louis has been the most stable part of his life since they met in their last year of uni. They know each other almost intimately, not just because of the sex—although it helps, of course—but because they were there through all those changes. Louis had just opened the door to his apartment when Zayn got the call telling him he got his current job at an art gallery. And they were in the process of getting undressed when the fire alarm went off at Louis’ old place, and this was the last straw that pushed him to look for a new one.

Yet, in many ways, they don’t know each other at all. Any information that they’ve learned has been incidental, not because they’ve made it a habit to spend time talking once they’ve done what they came to do.

Incidentally is how Zayn found out about this gig, actually. He fell asleep in Louis’ bed last night, something that’s _not_ supposed to happen, by some kind of unspoken yet very tangible agreement between them. But they smoked weed afterwards, and it made him sleepy, as always. He wasn’t able to stop his eyelids from drooping as he was watching Louis beside him on the bed, frantically writing something on a notebook. He woke up brutally around 5 a.m., grabbing his clothes in a panic and slipping out of the room to get dressed in the tiny kitchen, under the bleak neon lights while the sun was starting to rise. He was feeling groggy from getting up so hatively, when he could have stayed in the warmth of Louis’ covers—and arms, but he can’t think about that now, nor ever. In any case, he truly was in no state to snoop around, but as he was buttoning his shirt, trying to catch his reflection in the grey surface of the fridge, he couldn’t help but notice a red and black flyer that read:

Louis Tomlinson – singer-songwriter

One night only – The Rogue Club

And he couldn’t help but notice that this ‘one night only’ was a few hours away.

It stayed on his mind all day, through transportation and work and lunch in the park. He couldn’t help picturing Louis on stage, wondering how he would sound.

Because, the thing is, he’s never actually heard him sing, beyond the echoey tunes that sometimes sneak their way out of either his or Louis’ shower. 

Zayn knows that he’s a musician, of course. There’s always all sorts of instruments lying around his apartment, music sheets littering the floor, and lyrics scribbled on sticky notes that are spread on the wall above his desk. And actually, the first conversation they had was about the comparative merits of melodies and lyrics against colours and forms (Zayn’s own area of expertise). It was during the art history class they were both taking in their last year at uni. The debate had been heated and passionate, as a preview of what to come. It had continued on after the class was over, neither of them willing to admit defeat as they walked out of the building and passed by the student centre, until they’d found themselves in front of one of the dorms and they’d both stopped, out of breath and standing insanely close to each other.

Zayn had looked at Louis properly for the first time then, and he was annoyingly beautiful. It wasn’t even his blue eyes, his defined cheekbones, or his messy hair that he’d been drawn to the most. It'd been the way Louis had checked him out shamelessly, then said without a hint of hesitation: “Come on, my room’s on the second floor and my roommate won’t be here until a few hours.”

Zayn had had no choice but to follow him. Somewhere along the way that afternoon, one of them—he couldn’t even remember who, now—had said that they weren’t looking for anything serious, and the other had agreed. And that was pretty much the extent to which they’d discussed what they were doing.

It had carried on over the next few months, though, generally starting with some kind of disagreement they would have in class over trivial issues, until they inevitably found themselves in front of one of their buildings, stopped talking, climbed the stairs in silence, and opened the door to the room in a hurry.

Once they’d both graduated, Zayn had fully expected never to hear from Louis again, and he liked to think he was okay with that. But then, they’d both ended up moving to London, and unknowingly living in the same area. Months after a very underwhelming not-goodbye scene at Louis’ dorm, they’d stumbled upon one another in the tube, and Zayn had thought maybe they would reconnect as friends this time. They’d hung out at the pub once or twice, and it _had_ been nice to catch up with Louis, hear about what he’d been up to, and reminisce on their uni days. But then, not knowing exactly how, they’d fallen back into old habits, once again ending up between Louis’ sheets, which were definitely new, but whose smell made Zayn feel like the past six months in Louis’ absence had been just a blip. 

But now, months and months later, he’s feeling pretty shitty about the situation. First off, aren’t they getting too old for that kind of stuff? They’re full-on adults now, not pretend ones. And being friends with benefits—or whatever you want to call it—hardly seems like something real grown-ups do. Of course, Zayn likes to think he isn’t one to care about social conventions, but there’s something lying under the surface too. Something like, he might be catching feelings for Louis. Just slightly. It would probably go away if he managed to stay out of his life. And he’s tried. Whenever he sees Louis, he tells himself it won’t happen again, that next time he won’t pick up the phone, he won’t open that text, he won’t ring the intercom. But then he does. Worse, he’s the one who calls Louis, who presses ‘send’, who leaves his door open. In short, he’s addicted. And he suspects Louis might be too.

And tonight, he’s crossing a boundary he never even dared approach before, by showing up unannounced to an event Louis must care about greatly, but hasn’t even mentioned to him.

Zayn knows it’s stupid, reckless, even, but he won’t turn back. He prides himself in seeing things through. Plus he’s already bought his ticket, anyway.

So he pushes the door open.

🎼🎼🎼

Louis is sitting behind a piano in the middle of the stage. The spotlights surround him like a golden halo, like he’s got fire within him. Maybe he does.

But right now, he’s singing a ballad with his soft voice. There’s frailty in it, something that Zayn has only detected a few times over the years, when they were interrupted by a phone call from Louis’ mother, or on the rare occasions where Zayn tried to end things between them, because he just couldn’t take it anymore. Louis stayed stoic then, like he didn’t care, telling Zayn he could do what he wanted. But he was always betrayed by a crack in his voice, a crack which pushed Zayn to change his mind, to hope that maybe those inconvenient feelings were mutual. But then he never actually had the guts to do anything about them. And now it’s the same crack he can hear in Louis’ voice, just as he’s singing the last few notes of the song.

Zayn is sitting at a table not too far from the stage, but not too close either. He’s not sure how he feels about Louis potentially seeing him, but he also wouldn’t like him to think he came in secret. If he spots him in the audience, so be it.

There’s actually quite a lot of people in the room, people who seem to know Louis’ music. He’s starting a new song now, a more upbeat one, and some spectators cheer when they recognise the opening line. Zayn feels a pang of jealousy at this, at these strangers who’ve probably never even talked to Louis, and yet know things about him that Zayn was never given access to. He wonders if it’s his fault, if he should have tried to ask questions, instead of being afraid of Louis turning him down if he even attempted to make friendly conversation with him.

The song ends, and Louis announces that the next one will also be the last.

A guy sitting at the table next to Zayn whistles to protest, making Louis scoff at him, and just as he does, his eyes meet Zayn’s.

It only lasts a split second, as Louis immediately looks away and down at the keys like it didn’t even happen. But Zayn sees his cheeks flush under the silver light, and there’s a subtle line forming between his eyebrows as he resumes singing.

Zayn can hardly focus on the words, anxious as he is that Louis has seen him, and that he might be upset. He absent-mindedly notes that Louis is singing about coming back to the same person over and over again, and there’s a tugging in his brain begging him to pay attention to the lyrics, but he’s unable to. 

Everything feels too intense right now, from the enveloping sound of Louis’ voice to the golden colour of the wine in Zayn’s glass.

When Louis lifts his hands from the piano and gets up to bow to the audience, Zayn almost forgets to clap. But then he does, because despite having been late and distracted, he knows that what he just heard was special. A gift he’s not sure he deserves. A deeper understanding of Louis that he never thought he would get.

Then, without warning, Louis is right next to him, hugging the guy that whistled at him earlier.

Zayn watches them, dumb-founded. He realizes he’s rarely—if ever—seen Louis around people he knows.

The two of them seem close, as Louis’ friend— _boyfriend_ , possibly, but wouldn’t have Louis told Zayn about it if he had one?—is whispering something to his ear, then clapping his back with a fond smile. Louis whispers something back, and the guy glances at Zayn with a curious look, nods, and walks away.

Only then does Louis turn to Zayn and truly watches him for the first time of the night. He sends him a smile, but it feels forced. Fake. 

Zayn starts to genuinely believe he shouldn’t have come. He’s not Louis’ favourite boy—that would be the guy who just left, probably. He’s not even his boy at all. Why on Earth did he think it was a good idea to be here?

But then, without speaking, Louis grabs Zayn’s wrist and starts tugging him towards the stage, and Zayn has no choice but to follow him.

🎼🎼🎼

They’re on the venue’s roof now. Louis led them to his dressing room first, but Zayn only caught a quick glimpse of it as Louis was only fetching a lighter and a cigarette pack. Still without uttering a word, he showed the way through a maze of corridors and staircases, until he finally opened a heavy metal door and suddenly there was a gust of wind, the noise of traffic below, and the unmistakable smell of a London summer night.

Sitting cross-legged beside Louis, Zayn is watching him. He’s wearing a white shirt, immaculate against the purple of the sky. Maybe Zayn shouldn’t be staring like this. Maybe he should be used to Louis’ beauty after all these years. But his bafflement at it has somehow got worse over time.

It’s strange that they still haven’t talked. It almost feels like a game by now, a game whose rules are as unclear to Zayn as the rules of their relationship.

Louis’ eyes come to meet his, and Zayn misses a breath, starting to cough because of the smoke. Louis smirks, and finally speaks:

“Why did you arrive late?”

Of course, Zayn is taken aback. He was expecting Louis to ask him what he was doing here, or how he even found out about his gig. But now he’s acting like they’ve discussed it beforehands, like he invited him to his show.

“Er… I miscalculated the time it would take to come here,” Zayn says, sounding unconvinced even to his own ears.

“So you got lost?”

“No, I just took the wrong train,” Zayn argues, but Louis insists:

“You got lost.”

“A little bit, I guess,” Zayn admits, rolling his eyes.

Louis chuckles, and Zayn almost thinks that they’re gonna leave it at that, that Louis is going to invite him back to his place and they’re going to carry on as usual, as if nothing special has happened tonight.

But then Louis sighs, and says:

“Zayn… You know I would have invited you if I’d known you were interested, right?”

Does Zayn really know that, though? And why does Louis sound like he’s reproaching him something?

“What makes you think I’m not interested?” Zayn retorts.

“You never really asked me about my music,” Louis explains simply, and Zayn isn’t sure if the bitterness he’s hearing in his voice is real, or only a figment of his imagination.

He could argue that Louis never really asked him about his art either. He could argue that Louis never really asked him about _anything_. And _he_ is definitely bitter about it. But he also knows Louis is just following those damn implicit rules, and it’s not his fault if Zayn’s had a hard time accepting them lately.

Louis interrupts the course of his thoughts to ask:

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know… Whether you liked the show, how you even found out about it, why you decided to come… Anything.”

So he’s wondering about this, after all. And Zayn would have probably answered those questions—or at least tried to—two minutes ago, but now he can’t find it in himself to do it. It’s like his tongue is weighing three tons, and his lips are sealed. And suddenly, all he wants is to be alone and forget about Louis, and about how complicated everything is these days.

He feels like he’s floating miles away from the scene, waiting on the confirmation of a feeling that doesn’t come. He watches himself get up and mutter: “I should go”, and hardly notices the way Louis frowns and stubs out his cigarette before getting on his feet as well.

Zayn turns away and starts to walk back to the exit, his heart in his throat and with something that resembles either guilt or disappointment looming over him.

He hears Louis shout: “What the fuck, Zayn?” behind him, but his hand is on the door handle now, and he takes it as a sign that it’s too late to turn back and try to make things right.

🎼🎼🎼

A few hours later, he’s back home and lying in bed with his window open, even though the air coming through it is cold. In the red moonlight, he watches the lonely pillow beside him, and wishes he hadn’t fucked up earlier and Louis was here with him, instead of that cold empty spot. He half wonders what they’d do if he were, but deep-down he knows sex isn't what he wants right now. 

What he wants is to press kisses to the freckles on Louis' shoulders. What he wants is for them to lay in silence with their legs tangled. What he wants is for Louis to whisper something quietly, so quietly that Zayn has to ask him to repeat, but when he does, Louis is already dreaming.

He's only imagining all that because he's about to fall asleep, he reasons. But his eyes are wide open, and it takes another two hours for them to close and for his mind to stop spiraling with useless scenarios of comfortable intimacy.

After that, nothing happens for several days. He goes to work and thinks about Louis, buys groceries and thinks about Louis, listens to music and thinks about Louis. Dreams about him, even, something that never happened before. But he can't bring himself to do anything about it. It's stupid, is the thing. He just has to wait, and this unsettling feeling at the pit of his stomach will eventually go away. The question is, how long is it going to take?

He doesn’t need to wait for an answer, because the next week, coming back from work one evening, he stumbles upon Louis in the tube.

This is the second time it’s happened—he’s starting to suspect that fate has something to do with it, at this point. 

Louis is standing at a junction between hallways, somewhere in the middle of Victoria station. He’s holding a guitar, and he’s singing. Loud and clear. Actually, Zayn recognised his voice even before he turned the corner, and he could have easily gone another way to avoid Louis, but something compelled him to walk towards the sound instead.

And now here he is again, watching Louis from afar as he sings for other people. This time, no one is really paying attention to Louis. They pass him by and glance at him, and some people smile and slow their pace down, while others seem to turn up the volume of their headphones, not wanting to be disturbed. In the midst of all this, Zayn isn’t moving, and passers-by are starting to bump into him, but he doesn’t care. Because Louis is so beautiful right now, with his eyes closed and the greenish light of the underground and his fingers moving seamlessly on the shiny chords of his guitar.

Zayn doesn’t know what’s happening, except that his ears are ringing, and that it’s time for him to admit he has feelings for Louis.

He takes a dizzy step, then another one, and before he knows it, he’s standing right in front of the other man, who’s stopped singing and is looking at him with wide eyes.

Everything’s gone silent, including Zayn’s ears. The blue in Louis’ eyes is deafening. Zayn doesn’t even remember how everything started between them. He sees a spark in Louis’ pupils, and doesn’t know if it’s desire, anger, surprise, or something else entirely. He feels a tingling in his own fingers, and thinks it might be infatuation, but he doesn’t know whether to believe it or not.

All he can bring himself to say is a weak “hey”, and how lame is that?

Louis, who looked confused until a second ago, seems to get over his surprise and smirks as he answers:

“Hey yourself. Glad you’re not dead or something.”

“Why would you think I was dead?” Zayn asks, feeling like he’s just grasping at straws and saving time.

Louis kneels down to gather the few coins lying at the bottom of his guitar case, and puts his instrument into it.

“Er, I don’t know, let’s see… Maybe the way you disappeared from the venue the other day?” he suggests. “And then didn’t text anything afterwards to explain what happened?” he adds, getting up again.

“Sorry,” Zayn answers, biting his lip. _I didn’t think you’d care_ , he wants to add.

But Louis does, evidently, as he keeps pressuring him:

“So, what happened?”

Zayn sighs. Guess there’s no escaping it anymore.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?”

He suddenly can’t stand being underground, surrounded by all these people he knows nothing about, and who know nothing about him either.

“Yeah, I was done anyway. C’mon, I need tea.”

🎼🎼🎼

A few minutes later, they find themselves in a tiny cafe near Victoria station, watching the cabs and the buses pass them by behind the window. 

Louis takes a sip of his tea, winces, and drops a sugar cube inside the cup, while Zayn aimlessly turns his spoon into his coffee, wondering how to start speaking. If he doesn’t do it soon, he knows Louis will pressure him again, or worse, mock him for his inability to talk.

So he clears his throat, and jumps into the unknown:

“I saw the flyer for your show at your place, the last time I was there. That’s how I found out about it. I wasn’t, like, stalking you or anything.”

Louis scoffs.

“I didn’t think you were _stalking_ me. Was surprised to see you there, that’s all. Surprised that, I don’t know, you’d make the effort to come, considering we’re not… you know.”

And that’s the problem right there, isn’t it? They’re _not_.

“Are you mad at me?” Zayn asks. “I mean, it felt like you weren’t exactly pleased to see me.”

“Is that why you left so suddenly?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Can’t you just answer the question?”

Louis sighs.

“As I said, I was _surprised_. Confused too. That’s probably why you thought I was acting cold, or whatever. But I wasn’t mad, okay?”

“Okay,” Zayn nods, but he doesn’t feel relieved at all.

“So?” Louis asks, visibly losing his patience.

“So what?”

“So you still haven’t explained why you came to my gig.”

“Because I wanted to,” Zayn shrugs. “Do I really need another reason?”

“Nope. I’m just not used to you wanting _that_ kind of stuff, if you get my drift.”

“I’m not used to it either,” Zayn answers, but that’s a lie. He knows he’s been wanting other things from Louis for a while now. Possibly since they met each other again in that mad city. It just took him months to accept it. 

“Is it gonna happen again?” Louis asks, and maybe there’s the tiniest hint of vulnerability in his voice.

“What?”

“You showing up to my shows. Watching me with those big eyes of yours like I’m the fucking sky. Caring about my life.”

“I never said I _cared_.”

“No, but you do, don’t you? That’s the thing. That’s why you’ve been acting so weird lately.”

Zayn hasn’t touched his cup since they started to talk, and he watches Louis drink from his own nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just launched some kind of grenade that has the power to make their three-year-old agreement implode.

Once again, Zayn feels completely out of his depth. He searches for clues on Louis’ face, on his fingers tapping against the blue china of the cup, on his forearm resting against the window, with the glimpse of a tattoo underneath his sweater. But there’s nothing unusual there. That’s just plain old Louis, maybe wearing a few more layers than usual, but still Louis. And yet it isn’t, because Zayn needs to kiss him right now, not because he wants it to lead to something else, but because they’ve both had a long and busy day, the cafe is warm and cosy, and he feels a rush of affection at the person sitting in front of him.

Through all this, he still hasn’t said a word. He hasn’t answered Louis’ question, which the other man repeats, softer this time, so soft it almost sounds like he’s singing:

“Is it gonna happen again?”

Zayn thinks, and realises the real question is actually something else.

“Are _you_ gonna let it happen?”

“Yes,” Louis replies without hesitation.

“Do you _want_ it to happen?”

“Yes.” 

Still no doubt in Louis’ eyes.

“Then yeah,” Zayn says, a smile forming in his heart. “I’ll come to your shows, and ask you about your life, and you can do the same, if you want.”

“Good.”

“Just to be clear though, we’re still sleeping together, right?”

“Obviously.”

“And while we’re at it, you remember that thing we said about not looking for anything serious, back in the day?” Louis nods, frowning. “I kinda grew out of it,” Zayn adds sheepishly.

“Zayn… Isn’t that what this whole conversation is about? Us wanting to be serious?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

“I thought it was… Gosh, we really have to learn how to communicate, don’t we?”

Louis starts to chuckle, and after a beat, Zayn joins him.

“I’m so confused right now,” he admits between two laughs.

“It’s okay, love,” Louis smiles, lightly kicking his ankle under the table. “That makes two of us.”

🎼🎼🎼

Later, they’re sitting on Louis’ windowsill, passing a cigarette back and forth while Louis’ record is playing from the other room.

“I really like your music, you know?” Zayn says, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “It hasn’t played yet, but that song you performed at your show... The one about always coming back to the same person...” He feels Louis tense up under him. “I think it was my favourite.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, then Louis says:

“You know it’s about you, right?”

Maybe Zayn’s heart jumps with joy a little bit, but he’d never admit to Louis.

“I mean… I think deep-down, I was hoping it was. But I didn’t want to presume.”

“Well, you would have presumed right,” Louis answers, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Have I told you I love it when you’re blonde?” he adds as an afterthought.

Zayn can’t help but scoff.

“You have to stop with the compliments, or I’m gonna start to believe you have a thing for me.”

“Kindly shut up and take me to bed, please,” Louis mutters, stretching lazily.

So Zayn does just that, allowing himself to revel in their new routine, and already looking forward to waking up in Louis’ arms the next day.


	2. Louis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo, since there seemed to be an interest, i'm back with not one, but two more chapters 🤪  
> thanks so much to everyone who's read the first one, and commented on it. apparently it was some people's first zouis fic, which i'm deeply honored about 😌 come talk to me on [tumblr](https://quelsentiment.tumblr.com/) if you need zouis fic recs or just need to rant about them for a sec!

“So, who’s this song about?” Niall asks, coming out of the booth where he was recording the guitar parts on the song Louis wrote the night before, high on weed and high on Zayn. 

It felt risky, writing down those lyrics on the page while Zayn was lying right next to him and watching him. But Louis knew he had to surrender to the inspiration whenever it came, otherwise he might lose the words forever. And he knew Zayn’s kind of high was a fuzzy kind of high. He fell asleep a few minutes later anyway, and Louis woke up to a cold bed this morning. As always.

“Who says it’s about anyone?” he replies, more petulantly than intended.

“Looking at the way you’re blushing right now, I’d say it’s definitely about someone. Come on, tell everything to Nialler.”

Louis sighs. He doesn’t want to talk about it, and have to explain this complicated albeit banal situation. But at the same time, he’s dying to tell someone about Zayn. Because at this point, it feels like he’s living in his mind only, so maybe it would be a relief to make him exist in someone else’s too?

“It’s about that guy I’ve been seeing, you know…” he starts, his fingers fiddling with an unlit cigarette. “I mean, not _seeing_ exactly, but…”

“Sleeping with?” Niall helpfully supplies.

“Yeah.”

Louis wishes there was something more to say, something that could explain why he’s out there writing a song about Zayn, a song that’s so full of romantic undertones.

Niall is looking at him with an amused expression.

“Is that all there is to it? Sex?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

There’s the getting high too, lately. And there used to be the bickering in class, but they’re well past that. 

There’s also the way Zayn texts like a 15-year-old, the way he always rolls his eyes when he opens his door to Louis, the way his clothes are perpetually stained with paint, the way his flat smells of amber, the way he leads him to the bed gently, almost hesitantly, and the way he smiles _that_ smile when Louis tries to tickle him afterwards. Not forgetting the way they sometimes end up watching telly all afternoon like they’re hiding from the world.

None of this sounds significant, though. None of this should be reason enough for Louis to be in love with Zayn. And yet he is. If he was still doubting it, that very song would be proof of it.

“No offense, lad, but that sounds like a disproportionate gesture…” Niall ponders, sitting next to Louis. “I mean, writing this kind of song for a hookup.”

“I know…” Louis whines, settling deeper into the couch, wishing he could disappear into the soft cushion and forget about it all.

“So, you have a thing for him, then.” It’s not a question, and Louis doesn’t even bother to answer. “What’s his name again?”

“Zayn.”

And the syllable has never felt so heavy on Louis’ tongue.

🎼🎼🎼

On a whim that night, right before getting on stage, he decides to include the brand-new song to the setlist. Maybe singing those words in front of an audience will make the feelings go away. Maybe he can pass them on to other people somehow, get rid of this sweet sweet ache that messes with his heart. Surely someone out there would know what to do with it. Louis himself has no use for it, because Zayn clearly couldn’t care less about him. He knows that for sure because Zayn tried to end things between them several times, and he wouldn't have done it if he’d cared at least a little bit about Louis, right? _He always changed his mind, though_ , an unhelpful voice points out somewhere in the recesses of his brain, but as always, the realistic side of Louis argues that it was surely out of pity, or convenience. Most definitely _not_ infatuation.

With that thought in mind, he gets on stage and bows to the audience before settling behind the piano. It’s a solo set tonight, with only stripped-down versions of his songs. He absently thinks to himself that ‘stripped-down’ sounds like the perfect way to describe the show to come, knowing it’s going to end with his most vulnerable song to date.

He goes through the first few tracks in a trance-like state. The lyrics come out of his mouth easily, his fingers run over the piano keys smoothly, and the only thing he focuses on is his inner rhythm. He’s only brought back to Earth by the clapping of the audience between the songs, but the sensation is superficial, only lasting a few seconds every time. All he cares about is the music right now. The rest—namely, whatever’s happening with Zayn—can wait. It’s not important, not even worth thinking about.

Just before the last song, he finally takes a proper look at the crowd. There’s quite a lot of people, and judging by their smiling faces, they’re having a good time.

He introduces the new song, feeling both anxious and excited about sharing it with the audience. When he gives away its title, someone whistles in the middle of the room—Niall, obviously. Louis turns his gaze towards his friend to scoff at him and maybe give him the finger, and just as he does, he’s met with another familiar pair of eyes. But those ones aren’t icy blue like the Irish lad’s. No, they’re hazel, and visibly glowing under the golden spotlight. So is the man’s almost white hair, which he must have bleached sometime today, as he was definitely not blonde last night.

Louis looks at Zayn, and Zayn looks at him, and for a moment it doesn’t feel unusual at all. Until he remembers where he is and what he’s doing right now. 

Frowning, he looks back down at the piano, and starts singing, finding it hard to focus on the music for the first time of the night.

His mind is swirling with questions, but there’s one that keeps surfacing, and Louis swears he can almost see it written over the black and white keys.

_What is Zayn doing here?_

🎼🎼🎼

When the last note fades to silence, the immediate cheering of the crowd allows him to forget about his predicament for a few short seconds. They seemed to like the new song, and he’s relieved about it.

He bows to the audience, forcing himself not to look in Zayn’s direction, but still feeling his eyes etched on his skin.

There’s a small problem with that strategy, anyway, as Niall is still sitting in Zayn’s vicinity, and he’s cheering louder than everybody else. Louis can’t possibly ignore the lad, and he knows he can’t possibly ignore Zayn either. That would be ridiculous, and he knows that deep down, it’s the opposite of what he wants.

He goes to talk to Niall first. _Always start with what you know_ , his mother would say when she helped him do his math homework.

Niall congratulates him and slaps his back before hugging him, whispering:

“Told ya the new song was a banger!”

Louis smiles and whispers:

“Thanks. I’m afraid I can’t celebrate right now, though. Try not to look, but Zayn’s here. Right behind us.”

Niall nods in understanding but looks anyway, because of course he would. Louis can’t help but roll his eyes as his friend softly whistles, bids him goodbye and walks away.

Then, Louis turns to Zayn, not giving himself time to change his mind or tergiversate. Sometimes you have to be your own hero in life, or something like that.

He smiles at Zayn, but his heart is in his throat. There’s a million directions this night might take, and he’s not even sure which one he’d like best.

Zayn isn’t smiling back, isn’t doing anything but staring at him with a blank expression. Louis gets frustrated and reaches out, not sure if it’s to shake him and ask him to say something, grab his neck and kiss him, or steal the cigarette pack that’s coming out of his chest pocket. In the end, he catches his wrist, and pulls him towards the backstage area, wondering what on Earth he’s even doing right now.

He leads him to the roof, thinking the fresh air will calm him, allow him to come down from the high he’s been riding ever since he spotted Zayn in the crowd. But the air is heavy—it’s June, after all. 

He walks to the edge of the roof and sits on the ground, lighting a cigarette. Zayn does the same, putting some distance between them, and Louis wonders why. No one’s watching now, except for the tall buildings looking down on them. Any other time, they would have been all over each other already. But everything about today is different, and suddenly Louis can’t take that silence anymore.

There’s questions to be asked and things to be said. The problem is, even after all these years, he still has no idea how to talk to Zayn. Their brains are wired so similarly in so many ways that it makes it almost impossible for them to communicate. He knows it doesn’t make sense, and yet it’s the only explanation he's been able to find.

He takes a proper look at Zayn, and catches him staring already, causing the other man to start coughing on the smoke.

And that’s what unlocks everything for Louis—this moment of vulnerability in this strange night.

“Why did you arrive late?” he asks.

🎼🎼🎼

Later, he’s walking the purple streets of London back to his flat, wondering what went wrong. The conversation had started easily enough, with some typical Zayn and Louis banter, until things took a turn, and suddenly Zayn closed off, leaving without an explanation.

Louis still doesn’t know what the hell he was doing at his show. He did try to ask him, but now that he thinks about it, maybe Zayn took his questioning as a reproach. Maybe he thought Louis was mad at him for showing up uninvited.

He stops in his tracks and sighs, looking up at the moon and wanting to ask her what she’d do.

Would she try to call Zayn now? Or would she leave it alone for the time being?

See, Louis has never been one to be passive when it comes to things that matter to him. But there’s one big exception to this, and that’s Zayn. He could spend hours trying to justify it to himself, but tonight, he feels like being honest, and the plain truth is, he’s been scared to death of ruining things between them. So, the status quo it’s been. And the status quo it is to remain. At least until the next day. He’s exhausted anyway.

🎼🎼🎼

He wakes up at noon and checks his phone, half-hoping Zayn sent something during the night.

But he methodically goes through his notifications and finds nothing. Not even one of those lame emojis Zayn pretends to send as a joke, when they both know he’s actually the biggest nerd on the planet.

Louis almost wants to bury himself under the covers and go back to sleep for the rest of the day. But he’s meeting Niall at the studio again in a few hours, and it’s too late to cancel now.

He drags himself to the kitchen, and curses himself for never installing blinds at the window. It’s so fucking bright right now. 

When he opens the fridge to get milk, something catches his attention—a red rectangle of paper pinned on the metal surface. It’s the flyer for yesterday’s show. Something had pushed him to put it there days ago, but he completely forgot about it until now, because he has a bad habit of hardly ever using his kitchen. Now, though, he wonders if that’s how Zayn found out about his gig. And he wonders if that was the whole point of him leaving the flyer there.

Was he secretly hoping Zayn would see it, and decide to show up? Is his brain even capable of coming up with that kind of plan without him consciously knowing about it? Are his brain and his heart colluding and on a mission to move things along with Zayn or something? As crazy as it sounds, he wouldn’t put it past them.

He closes the door with a sigh and stares at the flyer for a few seconds, wondering if he should throw it away. In the end, he decides to leave it there. What’s done is done, anyway.

🎼🎼🎼

Over the next few days, Louis checks his phone almost constantly. He writes hundreds of texts. Most of them say something along the line of: “What the fuck is happening?”. Some are his usual: “Wanna come over?”. There's a few desperate ones that make him cringe as he types them out. And one that’s just a string of interrogation marks, followed by a single angry emoji.

He doesn’t send any of them—although he wakes up in a cold sweat one night, thinking he sent an aggravating “I miss you” by mistake, and breathing out with relief when he realises it was just a dream. 

He told Niall about the whole thing, and his friend thinks he should just call Zayn and have a proper talk, “like adults”. But Louis is proud, and his pride is telling him that after all, there’s no reason for _him_ to reach out first. _He’s_ not the one who showed up to his hook-up’s show, then disappeared without any explanation. But he knows Zayn is proud too, and that therefore, this waiting game might last for a very, very long time. Forever, even.

There’s a long way to go between a few days and forever, though, so every morning, instead of picking up the phone, Louis tells himself he’ll wait just a little longer. Then he goes to work, buries himself in lyrics and chords for a few hours, and forgets all about Zayn.

🎼🎼🎼

He’s singing in the tube tonight. He hasn’t done it in a while, not since he started booking gigs and recording songs in a proper studio. But for some reason, he woke up with the need to go back to Victoria Station, stand in that smelly spot between hallways, and sing his heart out while strumming his guitar. It’s humbling work—no one ever really cares about him, especially when it’s the end of the day and people are in a rush to go back home. But that makes it even better, when someone actually stops and listens to him, even if it’s just for a few seconds, until they go back to their own little bubble.

Everything is going good so far. He’s not making a lot of money tonight, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is the few smiles he’s getting from strangers passing him by.

When he hears a new train pulling into the station, and a bigger flow of passengers coming his way, he closes his eyes, slightly overwhelmed. Rush hour is truly starting now.

When he opens them again, his words get caught in his throat, because he’s met with two familiar almond shapes surrounded by the most perfect eyelashes the universe has ever given birth to. Or something. Maybe he should calm down with the hyperboles for a minute.

Zayn eventually mumbles: “Hey”, and this brings Louis back to life. Or, more accurately, back to the London underground, with its vivid smells and questionable colour patterns.

“Hey yourself. Glad you’re not dead, or something.”

He could have gone the angry road—after all, Zayn’s clearly in the wrong here—but he chooses the sarcastic one, because that’s his coping mechanism with pretty much any difficult situation he finds himself in.

Zayn seems unimpressed, though—he’s probably as used to Louis’ sarcasm as Louis is to Zayn’s stubbornness. Three years of arguing and sleeping together (in any and all order) will do that to you.

“What makes you think I was dead?” Zayn asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.

Louis is so annoyed right now he could kiss him. But that wouldn’t solve _anything_ , so he averts his eyes instead and sighs.

Like Niall said, they’re gonna have to deal with this the adult way. By _talking_. Something neither of them have ever been good at. It’s not a coincidence they’re both more comfortable at expressing themselves through their art. Louis doesn’t know much about Zayn’s own, but he’s seen enough stormy shapes, radiant colours, and funny characters at Zayn’s flat to know they’re a perfect reflection of his multi-layered mind.

So, as he answers Zayn’s question, he makes a promise to himself that he won’t leave the other man tonight until they figure everything out. And if that means getting his heart broken in the process, so be it. At least he’ll have the memories, the songs, and the lingering smell of Zayn in his apartment.


	3. Zayn and Louis

“C’mon ,love, we need to go!” Louis calls out from the living room.

Zayn takes one last look at the mirror, and one last deep breath. He’s a little weary of Louis’ reaction. What if he doesn’t like it?

When he steps into the living room, Louis doesn’t bother to look up from his phone, and mutters:

“You should wear your winter coat and a beanie, Niall says it’s freezing outside.”

“Yes mum,” Zayn smirks, wondering how long it will take for Louis to notice, especially with a hat on. Actually, he might not even see it until they make it to the gallery.

The thought is enough for Zayn to challenge himself not to reveal anything until he’s on stage to present his artworks. That’ll teach Louis to be such an inattentive boyfriend.

They quickly walk to the tube station, with their hands gripping tight to prevent each other from slipping on the black ice.

On the train, they don’t say anything for a while, getting lost in the buzzing of the voices surrounding them, and the yellow lights going by the window at supersonic speed.

Zayn feels nervous, all of a sudden, and Louis seems to sense it, as he presses a kiss to his cheek and whispers something so quietly Zayn has to ask him to repeat. He has a feeling of deja vu right then, but when Louis says, just a little louder: “I’m so proud of you”, the feeling disappears, replaced by a rush of affection and happiness at hearing those words.

“Don’t you want to take your hat off?” Louis adds. “It’s rather hot in here.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Zayn says, then swiftly changes the topic by asking Louis where he’s at with the song selection for his new album. He’s secretly hoping _his_ song will be on it, but doesn’t want to sway Louis’ opinion. His boyfriend suggested that he might have written more than one song about him, anyway, and even though Zayn made fun of him for being so sappy, he’s keeping that knowledge safely tucked away in his heart.

They make it to the gallery, where Niall is waiting for them, as well as Doniya, who lives in London too.

“Hey guys,” she smiles, high-fiving Louis, and hugging Zayn. 

While Louis greets Niall, she looks at her brother and asks:

“What kind of hat is that? It’s so ugly.” 

She reaches out to remove it, but Zayn slaps her hand away and whispers: “Don’t touch it, I’ve got a surprise for Louis.”

She rolls her eyes fondly.

“Whatever. Are you ready?”

“As ready as can be, I guess,” Zayn shrugs.

And the four of them push the door open.

🎼🎼🎼

There’s a lot of people. More people than Zayn would have ever hoped for.

“Where the fuck are they all coming from? Like, how did they even hear about the event?” 

Zayn turns towards Louis, starting to panic. Louis smirks and answers:

“Guess they found a flyer on their hook-up’s fridge or something,” and Zayn laughs so hard he instantly forgets about his nervosity, and the overwhelming pressure he was feeling not two seconds ago.

Sometimes, Louis’ brand of humour is a tiny bit annoying, but at times like this, Zayn feels so grateful for it he would snog his face off if they weren’t surrounded by a hundred people watching them.

“Alright, let’s do this, then,” he says once he stops giggling.

He gives a final wink at his three supporters and steps onto the stage, walking towards the mic with determination.

“Um, hi,” he starts, trying not to squirm under the stare of all these pairs of eyes, and wondering how on Earth Louis manages to do it on a weekly basis.

“So, I just wanted to thank you all for coming tonight. This is my first ever exhibition, and honestly I never thought this would ever happen, so thank you to everyone who’s ever given me and my art a chance. I really hope you like what you see. And also, I wanted to give a special thanks to someone very special to me. His favourite colour is red, so, uh… guess I did that for you?” he says, looking straight at Louis while he removes his beanie.

There’s a beat, then they can all distinctly hear Louis huff and mutter:

“You wanker, you did _not._ ” 

Zayn bursts out laughing along with the entire audience.

When he goes to find Louis two minutes later, his boyfriend is looking at him with an undecipherable expression.

“Well I’m sorry you hate it, but I actually think it slaps," Zayn pouts.

“I never said I hated it,” Louis answers, stepping closer to him.

“Could've fooled me,” Zayn rolls his eyes.

“How about we stop imagining what the other person feels like, for once. And like, ask them directly?”

Zayn is about to argue, say that he would have _loved_ to ask Louis how he felt about his hair, if he’d paid attention to him at the right time. But then he thinks better of it, and sighs.

“We’re always gonna have that problem, though, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know…” Louis ponders. “We’ve made a lot of progress over the past few months, I think. Sure, we’re not there yet, and maybe we’ll never even _get_ there, but that’s alright, innit? It’s a process. Makes things interesting and keeps us on our toes.”

“So you’re with me because of the challenge?” Zayn asks jokingly, but Louis takes the question seriously, and only answers after a few seconds.

“I mean, I guess you could argue I’m partly with you because you never make me feel bored. But mostly, I’m with you because I love your stubborn ass a damn lot.”

“You forgot about the sex,” Zayn points out, grabbing two champagne glasses on a tray nearby.

“The sex is just the icing on top, darling. The weird thing is that we started with the icing before we got to the cake, that’s all.”

“I don't know what I hate more: the fact you used this metaphor, or the fact it actually makes sense.”

Louis chuckles.

“Don’t forget you’re talking to a writer. Of course it makes sense.”

Zayn smiles, and hands one of the glasses to Louis.

“I love your stubborn ass a damn lot too, by the way,” he admits, and weirdly, it doesn't feel like such a big deal to say these words.

Maybe Louis is right. Maybe they've actually made a lof of progress already.

“I'll drink to that,” Louis replies, but before he does, he presses a kiss on Zayn's lips, making sure to trail his hand through his brand new red hair in the process.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ✨  
> Kudos/comments/[reblogs](https://quelsentiment.tumblr.com/post/640389429279719424/favourite-boy-by-wordsnnotes-aka-me-louiszayn) are my reason being 😬


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